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Iced Bums

Sometimes, now and again, every once in a while I like to surprise my children with a treat not made by me.

The prospect of eating something made in a factory by machines rather than in my kitchen by my hands fills them with ecstasy.

Today it is Iced Bums.

I'm always hoping that after the first couple of bites they will say 'It's not as good as yours Mum'.

Sometimes they do say that, but mostly they don't. And that's alright by me. The sun is shining, it's Friday, there's Rosé d'Anjou and beer in the fridge, there'll be lovely homemade things to eat over the weekend and I am certain that Worcester will beat Moseley tomorrow afternoon.

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For those of you who commented on my last post saying you used to keep pussy willow pets, here are some pages from an old book of mine called Nature's Toyshop by Margaret Hutchings. The apple well is also from this book.

Iced buns make me feel queasy, we went to a relatives house for tea and cake. They has spread the iced buns thickly with margarine, husband and self sat grim faced munching through them. We felt sickly for days afterwards.

Give me home cooking any day. Your children don't know how lucky they are.

No Mary, there are some things in that book that I used to make when I was little though. I've had to evict the pussy willow branches altogether. They don't smell very nice -better in the hedgerows I think.

How funny that your children are delighted by mass-produced treats! My mother wouldn't have margarine in the house (a relic from her wartime past under German occupation) so we regarded it as the most glorious stuff, coming home ecstatic from friends' houses where bread and marge was served. I wouldn't eat the stuff now!